


Just A Little Deeper

by CharMarStein



Series: If Death Was Easy [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Anorexia, Anxiety Attacks, Cutting, Depression, M/M, Sad, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, wanting to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharMarStein/pseuds/CharMarStein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he just needed to press a little harder. Just cut a little deeper. Just die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Little Deeper

**Author's Note:**

> not my characters but my depression. Triggers. If you need to talk or ever feel this way I'm always here :)

He had started in the bed. He was alone because Minho worked early morning shifts and normally got home before Newt, not being a morning person, even got out of bed but this morning was different. On this bright sunny morning Newt hadn't even gone to sleep yet. The sun had just risen and he was still stuck awake, thinking. That was a dangerous thing he knew but he couldn't help it. The thought just kept coming. How he wasn't good enough, he didn't know why Minho loved him, he didn't deserve it. He didn't want it, he just wanted to die. There was no reason for him to be stuck here and no one would really care if he was gone. He was sure people would pretend to care at first but soon they would forget and then he wouldn't even have to be a memory, he could just be nothing, that's what he wanted, to be nothing. 

He didn't know when he had moved from the bed but when he realized he was halfway to the bathroom he figured out what he was doing and took back control of his body rushing the rest of the way before falling to the tiled floor and ripping the bottom drawer out so fast that it fell of its roller with a loud clatter. It didn't matter. He was alone. Minho didn't care, that's why he left him each morning. That's the real reason he worked two jobs and got so many classes. Not so he could make a better life for them, those were just the lies he told Newt, but so he could get away. Newt saw the tears hit the floor in front of him but didn't notice he was actually crying as he dug through the drawer that was slowly being spilled out in front of him. He knew it was there somewhere, that little piece of metal that would be his salvation. The only thing he really needed in this world. With a sharp pain in his finger he found it. The only thing in this world that would ever love him, that would understand him, a broken razor blade. 

Newt took off his clothes and sat in the bathtub. He ran the water and made sure the drain was open, wanting to leave as little mess for Minho as possible. After all it wasn't his fault he got stuck with someone as ugly and fat as Newt. Newt had simply been to clingy for Minho to get away from. It wasn't the cute Asian boy he met years earlier that he wanted to find him but he knew it would be easier this way. 

Newt didn't know what time it was when he finally started to bring the shiny piece of metal across his skin but the water in the tub had long ago gone cold. He had just sat there and wasted his time when he could have been dead and that made him angry. He was so mad at himself, how could he have waited so long when he knew this was right and with that the first long thin line of blood dripped from hip to knee. After that several more appeared as if by magic. Hips, thighs, stomach, he kept going getting all the skin except the part that he knew would really end it. He had been avoiding his arms all together. Saving them for last, waiting until he could actually bring himself to pull the blade across the pale skin of his forearm. 

It was time. His breath quickened as he pushed the blade right below his palm and slowly started dragging it up. He hadn't pressed hard enough. He did it again right next to his first cut, more like a scrape. He could do it this time. He didn't go deep enough. The blood was trickling down his arm but at this rate the blood would clot before he even passed out. He needed to do this but as he went back at his skin he saw his hand was shaking and his vision started to blur. I'm doing it, he thought, I'm dying, but as the minutes passed he realized that it wasn't death coming for him but a simple anxiety attack. He had scared himself into a shaking sobbing mess and he hadn't even managed to kill himself. He was a failure. He curled up into the fetal position on the cold porcelain of the bath tub and sobbed out pleas for death. He didn't believe in God but if there was one he hoped that the great being would show mercy and finish him off.


End file.
